What Dreams May Come
by Yvetta
Summary: I know it should be mercifully put down already, but this is another finale tag. My version of how Sam keeps his promise to his brother.
1. Chapter 1

NOTE: So here's the deal, everyone. I prefer to pretend that the Season 3 finale didn't happen. . . at least until I find out how they're going to resolve it. But then I went and had this dream that gave a possible and unusual resolution to it, and I told my sister, who said I needed to write it down. Anyway, this is more a favor to her than anything else. I'm about 99 sure this will be AU once the new season starts. Here's a short teaser but the rest of the story is in the next chapter. Enjoy!

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Dean Winchester's eyes snapped open, leaving him in the most confused state he'd ever been. He was pretty sure that about two seconds ago, he'd been screaming his head off in the eternal torment of hell. And yet here he was, awake, alive, _human_, and . . . alone.

He found himself sprawled on a comfortable couch in very familiar settings. He'd know this house anywhere, since he and his brother had been spending so much time there after the death of their father. It was Bobby's place.

Dean sat up, looking around for Sam, but saw no one. He felt none of the effects of being dead – not even the wounds he'd received from the hell hounds that had come to collect him at the end of his year. In fact, he'd never felt in better health. He rose to his feet and took a step forward.

Immediately, he felt like he'd run into an invisible brick wall. He jerked backward and fell onto the couch again, grunting softly with surprise.

Sam?" he called out. "Sammy?"

He waited patiently, but no one came. The house seemed abandoned, but Dean couldn't leave. He was stuck on this sofa.

Alone.

And confused as hell.


	2. Chapter 2

It felt like hours later when the door to the house finally opened and someone stepped through. Dean could only hope it was Bobby Singer until the man himself came around the corner to check on him. And the look on Bobby's face closely resembled the schooled look of complete abject shock that he'd had on him when he'd seen Sam after Dean made the deal. Some kind of cross between disbelief and terror and relief all at the same time.

"Dean?" he drawled softly.

Bobby?"

hunter sighed a great sigh, one that was a full body effort, before stepping fully into the room and dropping into a nearby chair. "It worked."

What worked, Bobby?" Dean asked. "Where's Sam? And why can't I leave this couch? And what the hell am I even doing here?"

Bobby took a deep breath as if to steady himself, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin. "Sam had a plan to get you out of there. You had to know he wouldn't leave you."

"Of course I knew that," Dean almost snapped back. "I just figured he'd wait more than ten minutes after I arrived. I mean, how long has he had this plan?"

"Ten minutes?" Bobby repeated dumbly, awe in his expression.

"You didn't notice I was only gone for ten minutes?" Dean shook his head. Then another thought occurred to him. "Wait – how did you have time to drive me here?"

This time Bobby swallowed before continuing. "You were gone for three weeks, kid," he said softly.

Stunned silence echoed through the room. "Excuse me?"

"Three weeks. Sam wouldn't let me burn the body or even bury it. You reeked like crazy. That's why I wasn't here when you woke up. I couldn't stand the smell. Sam assured me it'd go away once you came back to life. He was right."

"Three weeks?!" Dean asked. "That's crazy!" He paused to let things sink in. "Where's Sam?" It was at this point in the conversation that Bobby very unencouragingly looked like he had something distasteful stuck in his mouth. "Where is he?" Dean asked again, trying to be forceful. "Tell me he didn't make another deal."

"He wouldn't do that," Bobby snarled, then looked down, suddenly finding his carpet rather interesting. "It's more like a contest than a deal."

"Contest?" More silence. And it was really starting to grate on Dean's already frayed nerves. "Bobby, spit it out! I'm going to need to know!"

He decided to challenge Lilith to a duel of sorts. If he wins, then you come back to life and he goes free."

I'm alive, so he won, right?"

Bobby sniffed and fidgeted. "Well, part of the challenge was that you come back to life while they fight. If Sam wins, nothing will change."

Dean waited, but nothing seemed to be forthcoming. It was like pulling friggin' teeth. "And what happens if Sam loses?"

"If Sam loses, you die and he goes to hell with you."

It was now Dean's turn to swallow as though he'd just eaten something disgusting. "What kind of fight is this?" he asked, his voice suddenly raspy.

"To the death, by any means possible. If he can beat her with guns and knives, he will."

"But he can't."

Bobby shook his head slowly. "No, he can't. He took them with him just in case. But he figured it would be more of a mental power thing."

Dean sat back against the couch with horror in his eyes. "Why did you let him do this?"

"You think I could've stopped him? You know how you stupid Winchesters get when you feel threatened. Sam's actually a lot scarier than you when he's alone. I couldn't have done anything but help."

Minutes full of ached silence passed, and finally, Dean asked, "Why am I trapped here?"

Bobby snored. "Kid was afraid you'd come after him, so he did a lot of research and put up these protection wards to keep you in."

"Break 'em down, Bobby! He's damn right I'm going after him!"

"I can't. He set them up so only he could take them down. Nothing can get in, and nothing can get out."

"How long is this fight going to take? I could starve to death in here!"

Bobby looked up sharply, but then realised Dean's selfishness in that sentence was really only a facade for how terrified he was for his brother's safety. "It shouldn't take long. He said they'd know in an hour or so who was going to beat who." More time passed – which was fine, since apparently they had – he checked the clock on the wall and tried to remember when exactly he'd awakened – about half an hour to kill. "You should get some rest, kid," Bobby said as he stood up. "You probably don't feel well after being trapped down in hell."

Dean met his eyes evenly. "Seriously? Bobby, I've never felt better in my life. I told you it only felt like I was down there for ten minutes."

Bobby nodded sympathetically. "Well, take a nap or something. I can't give you any food or books or anything to entertain you."

"My brother is fighting a duel with an especially psychotic demonic witch and you think I can take a nap?"

Bobby shrugged. "Do what you want. Like I said, there's nothing I can do for you. We're both waiting." He turned to leave the room, and Dean jumped to his feet.

"Bobby, wait!" he said, causing the older man to stop and glance back. "Aside from me dying if he loses, how do we know when it's over?"

"If he loses, you dying will be the only sign I'll need," the hunter said quickly. "If he wins, I suppose him coming back would be a good clue. He left from here, so he'll probably come back here." With that, he left the room.

By himself again, Dean collapsed bonelessly against the couch and let a million unpleasant thoughts rush over him. Sam fighting with the demon was probably the worst idea he'd ever had, especially if it was just with the psychic powers thing. The younger hunter hadn't had any visions since the death of Yellow Eyes, and they weren't even sure if he still _had_ any powers with which to fight. Then again, Dean knew Sam could be a pretty amazing fighter when he had to be. And this was definitely one of those times.

Forty-five minutes later, Dean was more than restless. One hour had long gone and he was going crazy. He hadn't died and gone back to hell yet, though, so Sam couldn't have lost. Then again, Sam wasn't there, so Sam couldn't have won. It was the worst possible combination of cabin fever and uselessness he could ever have imagined. Maybe he _was_ still in hell, after all, and this was his punishment for being a hunter.

Two hours after that, Bobby had entered the room as though he was twenty years older than he was, hunched, despondent, and with a haunted look in his eyes that said he'd given up. He had had a short conversation with Dean about the latest in the demon war and then left again, mumbling something about this being too hard on his heart.

An hour and a half after that, Dean's body was starting to complain at him. He needed to take a leak and he was hungry. Unfortunately, nothing reasonable or sanitary could be done about either one at that moment, so he chose to ignore it. And that was when he decided taking a nap was not such a bad idea. If only he could get his brain to shut off long enough for him to sleep.

Fifteen minutes after he'd begun his doomed attempt at sleeping, Bobby came in to interrupt, quietly pointing out the exact place where Sam had done his summoning or challenge or whatever it was exactly that he'd done. He'd kept on babbling about the ritual and the words and where Sam had found it, but they both knew it was more because he was worried than because he wanted to explain the young Winchester's ingenuity. And that was why Dean's eyes were riveted to the spot. He almost stopped blinking, just in case he'd miss something.

Two hours and twenty-three minutes later, when it had been a grand total of seven hours and twenty-seven minutes since Sam had performed this crazy stunt in the first place – and yes, Dean was counting – a cloud of what looked like fog enveloped the spot where Dean's eyes had been glued since Bobby had told him that was where Sam left from. He yelled for Bobby, and when the older hunter had come in at a dead run, they both watched the fog with utter fascination and hope. Then, without warning, the fog dispersed, leaving a face-down unmoving heap of Winchester lying on the ground.

Dean tried to run to his brother, but hit his invisible prison walls and angrily fell backward. Bobby rushed forward, dropping to his knees next to Sam and reaching tentatively for a pulse. He and Dean both waited with baited breath until Bobby found the unsteady and weak throbbing in the neck under his fingers. He let out a grateful sigh and tried to ignore Dean, who was then pestering him with questions and advice. Instead, he gently grabbed Sam's shoulder to turn him over, letting the kid's upper body sprawl across his lap and free arm.

Sam looked awful. His face was covered in bruises, cuts, and scrapes, and was almost white. His skin was cold, he was lathered in sweat, and his breaths were too shallow. That didn't even count wounds that were currently invisible because they were hidden under layers of clothing. Bobby immediately set to work feeling for broken bones and wounds that needed patching. He found broken ribs and a few gashes that were bleeding heavily. Luckily, there didn't seem to be any internal injuries – no obvious ones, anyway.

Bobby ran for his first aid kit, and spared a glance at the other Winchester, only vaguely registering how Dean looked like he was going to claw his own eyes out from tension before turning back to his patient. He cut Sam's shirt open to get to the worst of the wounds, stitching, wrapping, taping, and otherwise bandaging until the kid almost looked like a mummy. Then, he went for a bag of ice and was just touching it to a particularly nasty bruise on Sam's forehead when he felt more than heard the body stir. His hands froze, as did his entire body.

"Sammy?" Dean asked from the couch, voice strained as though he'd been crying. Bobby didn't look back to find out.

Sam's head rolled to one side and then back, eyes scrunching, until his skin met the ice. Then his whole body twitched and he swallowed convulsively. Dean called his name again, and both hunters watched carefully until his eyes opened. There was no amount of recognition in the small slits of hazel that Bobby could see, but it was still a relief.

"Sammy?" Dean called out again, wringing his hands in the need to do _something_.

At this, Sam's head tried to roll in that direction, but ultimately failed when he either became dizzy or lost the strength to complete the move. Instead, his lips parted slightly and he rasped out, "D'n?"

Both Bobby and Dean let out great sighs of relief. "Sam? It's Dean. You locked me up on the couch, remember? I need you to wake up and look at me."

Whether it was the voice giving the orders or the orders themselves, Sam finally found the motivation to finish moving his head to look in his older brother's direction. "D'n?" he asked again.

Dean smiled radiantly when he met his brother's eyes. They were cloudy and full of pain and confusion, but they seemed clear enough to know and recognise Dean. "Yeah, kiddo, it's me. You okay?"

Sam closed his eyes slowly and reopened them at an equal pace. Normally it would have annoyed either hunter, but today, Bobby and Dean would have let Sam do things as slow as he wanted. "You 'lve?"

Bobby looked confused, but Dean had been speaking this language his whole life. What Sam was asking was perfectly clear to him. "Yeah, I'm alive. Thanks to you. I'm going to have to talk to you about that later, by the way."

Sam swallowed and took another slow blink. "H'lp."

This was clear enough to both of his audience members. Sam wanted his big brother for comfort. And Dean would have sawed off his right arm to go to him, if only protection wards or whatever it was worked that way. But they apparently didn't.

"I can't, bro," he said gently. "You locked me on the couch."

Sam swivelled his head to Bobby and back to Dean, eyes opening wider as the situation sank in to his muddled brain. "Oh yeah," he muttered.

It wasn't a full sentence, but the words were clearly enunciated and Bobby and Dean had another collective sigh of relief. "You want to get me out of here any time soon?"

Sam licked his dry lips and turned to Bobby. "Pull out the middle stones."

"The what?" Dean asked, looking around for any sort of stones but seeing none.

"Is that all?" Bobby asked, already on his feet and moving over.

"Breaks it," was all Sam got out.

Bobby got near Dean, hands splayed out as though he were either a mime or a blind man. At the exact place where Dean had found himself trapped, Bobby seemed to hit something and he ran his hands downward and to the side until his fingers closed over something. Then he pulled. Nothing happened, but the older hunter kept moving, stopping briefly at each corner to repeat the movement. At the final corner, a flash of light that sent Bobby backward onto the ground and Dean onto the couch with an arm flung across his eyes followed the action.

When it seemed things had settled down, Dean sat up, immediately noticing Bobby doing the same. The hunter was grasping something in his hands. The elder Winchester also noticed that there were sets of square stones at each corner of the couch he was sitting on. Why he hadn't been able to see it earlier was beyond him. But explanations could wait, anyway. He ignored Bobby and staggered off the couch, over to his brother.

He knew he probably shouldn't, but he couldn't help it; his arms seemed to be doing things of their own accord. He couldn't be blamed for scooping his little brother up and into a very tight hug. Sam grunted softly and Dean finally pulled away just enough to lay Sam's upper body across his lap, as Bobby had done earlier. Their eyes met.

"Told you I'd get you out," Sam ground out wearily, eyes closing.

"Don't pass out on me," Dean warned, giving his brother a very gentle shake. "I need you awake." When Sam's eyes opened, the only way to describe them was glowering. Dean laughed. "Fine. You can sleep now, but I want you to tell me everything when you feel better."

Sam's lips quirked as though he was going to smile but never got around to finishing it, and his head lolled into Dean's chest. He breathed out, "Jerk," as he fell asleep. His brother's standard reply was wasted, for he was already out and couldn't hear it.

Dean, for his part, found that holding his brother in his arms and feeling him breathing was suddenly the most enjoyable thing he'd ever done . . . in a strictly non-creepy or disgusting sort of way, of course. He just liked knowing they were there together. Alive.

And definitely not alone.

Curiosity about how Sam had defeated Lilith loomed in his mind. His bladder was still screaming at him and he was pretty sure his stomach had consumed some of his other internal organs to satisfy its intense hunger by then, but it didn't seem important anymore. All that mattered was that his broken family was there with him. And he was no longer in hell, thanks to said family.

Nope, not alone.

Never alone again.


End file.
